


Second - Third Period

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Relationship, Unrepentant Fluff, fairy boys gen 2 in campus, love yourself love your yousei boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: Omi, Tsuzuru and Juuza spends lunch together.(in which they mostly just watch Tsuzuru sleep.)
Relationships: Fushimi Omi & Hyoudou Juuza, Fushimi Omi & Hyoudou Juuza & Minagi Tsuzuru, Fushimi Omi/Minagi Tsuzuru, Hyoudou Juuza & Minagi Tsuzuru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Second - Third Period

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving this from Twitter. This is very roughly written because I wasn’t really trying for anything, just... wanted to have fairy boys gen 2 being soft and soft tsuzuru aisare again. 
> 
> Hopefully someone out there likes this :D

It’s a Monday and Fushimi Omi gets a surprise.

As a university student on his last year, Omi doesn’t have that many classes to attend anymore—he has most of the credits he needs and he only needs to finish his thesis by the end of next semester to secure his graduation. The few classes he still has are taken either because he was really interested in the topic, or his thesis Advisor told him to take it. The Remote Managerial Development class every Monday during fourth period is the latter case—it’s quite a chore, considering it’s his only class on a Monday and it starts at 11 in the morning right before lunch, so Omi’s choice of designated seat is on the right back corner of the hall where the class takes place. It’s a good seat; he could still easily see the lecturer down on the center front but it’s far enough that he can’t really be seen fiddling with his camera or script.

Except today, his seat is taken. By one Minagi Tsuzuru, fast asleep leaning sideways against the wall, one hand still holding a poised pen on an opened script half on top of a book titled  _ Rereading Soseki’s Kokoro _ , clearly in the middle of making revision notes.

His fingers reach out to touch the bangs curtaining Tsuzuru’s eyebrows before he could help himself. Omi pauses, stares at the dark circles under Tsuzuru’s eyes, and wonders how late their playwright had stayed up last night. If only the answer is as clear as the number of exhausted lines softly marking the corner of Tsuzuru’s eyes and the bridge of his nose, perhaps—

“Oi, Fushimi, what are you—oh,” a familiar voice of one of his classmates comes before said classmate’s head popping next to his arm. “Oh? Who’s this? Did this guy sleep through his class and didn’t wake up even when it ended?”

Omi hums. “He looks tired.”

“You know him?”

The genuine curiosity in his friend’s question takes him aback for a second. “We’re—“  _ boyfriends _ , the small voice on the back of his head pipes in, but thankfully didn’t make it past his throat. “We’re in the same theatre company.”

“Oh, riiight, you’re doing stageplays and stuff too, huh. Aren’t you going to wake him up?”

Omi considers the poised pen still held in Tsuzuru’s hand, the tip hovering slightly over an unfinished note under a circled line:  _ make it sound more passi _ , with the last character distorted into a shape almost unreadable, marking the moment Tsuzuru must have fallen asleep. Sometimes, Omi forgets how much Tsuzuru actually does even when he’s not in the midst of writing a new script, and how little time he has for himself.

With a smile, Omi drops his bag on the seat next to Tsuzuru, and turns to his friend. “Sorry, I’m stealing your seat for today.”

His friend blinks, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. “What?”

“He doesn’t sleep much, so I figured I’d let him sleep.” Omi leans against the desk, glancing down to the still empty seats on the rows in front of them. “Professor won’t notice this seat, but just in case, I’m stealing your seat so I can sit here. Just for today, sorry.”

His friend huffs before leaving with a “You owe me one, Fushimi!” and a good-natured punch on Omi’s arm. Omi laughs under his breath, finally lowering himself to the seat and quietly taking out his notes and the reading materials he’d finished yesterday. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catched the sight of the Professor striding in, her voice ringing clear as more students scramble into the class to find their seats before the class begins.

Omi angles his body just so in order to provide more cover for the still sleeping Tsuzuru, and if in the process he gets to scoot closer until Tsuzuru’s thigh presses against his own, well. No one else needs to know.

** ——-o0o——- **

His neck hurts.

Around him is the familiar white noise of chairs scraping and students talking—light suggestions for lunch, talks about their next class, comparing schedules—and for a second Tsuzuru keeps his eyes closed, trying to remember what class he’d fallen asleep in. He really needs to stop doing that, too. The Professor might not give a fuck but it’s not like he enjoys catching up by himself and cramming in some studying time in-between breaks during his part-time job shifts.

.......he’s really, really sleepy though. But the class is obviously over, so he needs to move. Maybe continue his nap in the library before meeting up with Omi and Juuza for lunch.

Ow, his neck hurts. He’s leaning against something oddly warm though, cheek pressing against a thick fabric, and something keeps tickling his eyelids. He breathes, and huh, isn’t that weird that it smells like Omi’s shampoo...?

“Tsuzuru...?”

Is he lucid dreaming, probably? He fell asleep in class, there is no way Omi should be—

“Are you awake?”

Wait.

Tsuzuru’s eyes fly open, wide, and almost automatically he throws his upper body back, completely forgetting the wall behind him and effectively banging the back of his head into it. He curls up into himself and swears, loud enough for the remaining students in the class to pause and stare, but Tsuzuru doesn’t have time to consider any of them because _ow, shit_.

“Are you okay?” Omi’s voice drifts past the pain reverberating from his head, and then gentle fingers slip into his hair, moving carefully to feel the back of his head. They magically take some of the pain, and Tsuzuru sighs as those fingers settle over the still-throbbing bump. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

“.....” Tsuzuru opens his eyes and finds himself staring at Omi’s familiar jacket. His half-awake brain, still struggling through the haze of pain, stupidly prompts _your world is only the span of your boyfriend’s torso_ , and Tsuzuru has to shake his head slightly to chase the thought away. He hears Omi makes a disapproving noise, but he looks up anyway and dumbly says, “Fushimi-san....?”

Omi lets his head go, settling back into his chair and blinks at Tsuzuru. “Yeah?”

They stare at each other for a few moments. The Tsuzuru catches the sight of the books and script scattered on his table, stares at the thick book about business management and notes that are clearly not his, and then looks up to stare at the rest of the class.

He doesn’t recognize any of the students moving to leave the classroom.

Omi’s chuckle draws his attention back, and he watches as Omi begins to close the book and notes on his side of the table. “Juuza’s coming in a bit. He got bored waiting at the lounge, I told him we’ll just eat our bento together at the cafeteria.”

“It’s lunchtime...?” Tsuzuru hears himself, sounding confused, and Omi’s shoulders shake as more laughter escape his lips.

“You slept through your class and then through mine.” The business book disappears neatly into Omi’s backpack, followed by the notes and the adorable pouch that Tsuzuru remember seeing the dorm’s knitting club work on last month. “Let’s go eat something, and then you can get some more sleep before fourth period. Your next class is in fourth period, right?”

“Yes—? Uh,” Tsuzuru scrambles for his own backpack, accepts the script and books that Omi hands over to him and crams them in. “I did—I slept through two periods?!”

Omi has his hands on his hips now, and there’s an air around him that hilariously feels a bit like Yuki. “You seem really tired. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Yes?” Tsuzuru tries, and Omi raises an eyebrow. “I’m uh. Running on two hours of sleep.”

The sigh that slips off Omi’s lips is exasperated, if laced with obvious fondness. Tsuzuru almost feels bad about it. Almost.

“Well, then the faster we finish lunch, the faster you can go back to your power nap,” Omi’s hand slides on the table to lift the last notebook in one smooth motion, and before Tsuzuru could say anything, it taps him gently on the forehead, Omi’s knuckles pressing against the line of his cheekbone. There’s a chuckle underlining Omi’s words as he continues: “And maybe try not to pull another all-nighter tonight.”

Tsuzuru feels the heat climbs his face so fast it’s almost dizzying. He closes his eyes, one hand raising to take ahold on the notebook as Omi’s hand leaves with a subtle caress against his cheek. He looks up then, at the curve of Omi’s smile, the soft way it curls the lines around his eyes, and then promptly buries his face into the notebook’s cover and says, muffled, “‘Kay.”

Omi’s hand rests atop his head to ruffle his hair, and something in him sigh in resignation, in what feels almost terrifyingly close to helplessness, because  _ god, I am so far gone. _

Juuza asks if he was sick when they finally meet up, because Tsuzuru’s cheeks are still red, but he’s easily distracted by the school cafeteria pudding that they bought him. Tsuzuru doesn’t actually intend to fall asleep again after lunch, but Omi’s pressed against his right side comfortably and Juuza’s backpack is just the right size for a pillow, so who is he to fight against the sleep tugging relentlessly at the corners of his eyes?

Besides, Omi seems happy when he gets more sleep.

** ——-o0o——- **

“Tsuzuru-san looks tired.”

Juuza doesn’t mean to say that out loud, but somehow he does anyway. Maybe it’s the way Tsuzuru’s out like a light in what seems like two seconds after his head hits Juuza’s backpack on the table. Maybe it’s the very apparent eyebags, and or the worry that has been nagging him slightly when they met up for lunch earlier. Tsuzuru’s face had been really red after all. Maybe he’s actually sick?

The way Omi’s hand lingers on Tsuzuru’s shoulder as he leaves his jacket over Tsuzuru’s figure seems almost too tender. “He’s running on two hours of sleep, apparently. I found him asleep in class earlier, in the middle of making notes on the script.”

That can’t be healthy. But Juuza’s heard of writers who write their best during clutch time and wonders if Tsuzuru’s like that, too, if that’s the reason why their playwright always seem to keep himself busy. It never fails to amaze him how much Tsuzuru does things, compared to himself who tends to focus on only one single thing and devote everything he has to it. Sweets being one of them.

He thinks he should probably do more to help.

Omi meets his eyes and smiles fondly, and Juuza realizes that he probably had said that out loud too. “I mean,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Tsuzuru who has started to snore softly, and because he’s terrible at explaining himself, he repeats, rather lamely, “Tsuzuru-san looks very tired.”

“He’d appreciate it if you offer to help him return books to the town library once he’s done with the script,” Omi suggests. “That way he can sleep without having to worry about returning them in time.”

Juuza thinks that’s a very good suggestion, but he helps Tsuzuru return books to the campus library all the time anyway. “I was thinking maybe something more useful like... cooking? Should I maybe learn to cook?”

Omi hums. “Tsuzuru would probably be sad if he gets less chances to feed you.”

“Oh,” Juuza says, blinking in surprise at Omi. “Tsuzuru-san says that too, when I said maybe I should learn how to cook so I can help you.”

Omi’s shoulders shake as he laugh. “Did he?” he murmurs, fingers touching the top of Tsuzuru’s head in an aborted motion that Juuza thinks is too similar to a caress. Omi pulls his hand and folds them on top of the table instead, looking at Juuza with a smile. “You’re fine just the way you are, Juuza. I do have a favor to ask though, if you don’t mind helping.”

Juuza blinks. “Of course I don’t.”

“I’ll be graduating soon, so I’ve been a bit worried,” there’s something soft in Omi’s eyes that glitters whenever his gaze falls on Tsuzuru, something that Juuza can’t quite put a finger on. It feels a bit like glimpsing something not-quite-a-secret, subtly layered in the way Omi positions himself so that Tsuzuru’s weight falls sideways and mostly on him instead of slumped onto the table, in the way his smile turns even fonder around Tsuzuru’s name. “You know how he tends to skip lunch in favor of going straight to library sometimes, and just get some onigiri before starting his shifts? I’ve been making sure to fetch him for lunch whenever I’m on campus, but since I’m not in campus much nowadays and I’ll be graduating soon, I think I’d need help in dragging him for lunch. Can you help with it when I’m not here?”

Juuza frowns. “That’s not a favor,” he tells Omi. “I’d want to do that, too, Omi-san. That’s the least I can do.”

Omi’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Would you? That’s great, thank you Juuza.”

Juuza isn’t sure why that would entail a thank-you from Omi, but there are things about Omi and Tsuzuru that he doesn’t quite understand yet. Maybe someday, when he’s learned and known more about the glances they exchange, or the way Omi presses against Tsuzuru sometimes when there’s clearly more space on the other side. Or maybe Omi and Tsuzuru will tell him. In time.

But for now, the bell for the next period is ringing and he has to go. Juuza rises to his feet, grabbing the notebook for his next class that he’d pulled out earlier, and turns to Omi. “Omi-san, can I ask you to keep my backpack for a while? I’ll come get it after this period.”

None of them wants to wake Tsuzuru up, after all. Omi smiles, waves lightly as Juuza slides his chair back properly under the table and makes his way out of the cafeteria.

He steps feel lighter, and he’s sure it’s not just because he’d left his backpack behind.

** ——-o0o——- **

**Author's Note:**

> I’m turning into Cerberus in like, five days? A bit dreading it so I’m trying to distract myself with OmiTsuzu lol
> 
> Catch me yell about OmiTsuzu @ michuju0322, or things in general @ isuilde!


End file.
